I Think Breakfast Is The One Meal

You Can't Give Any Exciting Speech Without Misremembering Things.

I Shared A Bed With My Sister, Grace, Until I Was Seventeen Years Old. She Was Afraid To Sleep Alone And Would Begin Asking Me Around 5:00 P.m. Every Day Whether She Could Sleep With Me. I Put On A Big Show Of Saying No, Taking Pleasure In Watching Her Beg And Sulk, But Eventually I Always Relented. Her Sticky, Muscly Little Body Thrashed Beside Me Every Night As I Read Anne Sexton, Watched Reruns Of Snl, Sometimes Even As I Slipped My Hand Into My Underwear To Figure Some Stuff Out.

Once, My Little Sister Was Walking Down The Street In Her Thick Black Glasses, And A Homeless Man Muttered, Talk Nerdy To Me.

Aren't Most Of Us Dealing With The Fact That We Have Moms Who Either Weren't Ready To Be Moms Or Had Some Level Of Resentment About It? Everybody Is Dealing With The Different Iteration Of Pain Their Mom Has Handed Them.

What A Snarky Jerk. (obviously, I Later Slept With Him.)